by Jill Shalvis
Tempting fate, she leaned in close, softly kissed his cheek.
I’ll never forget you.
For a moment she stood by the bed, yearning and longing for something she couldn’t put a name to. But even if she could, it was no use.
She was simply no good at matters of the heart. Dressing quickly and quietly, she hesitated one last time at the door.
Then, picking up her bag, she finally left, knowing she had no choice. No choice at all.
4
AS ALWAYS, Mike slept like the dead and awoke by degrees. It was a great fault of his, being so slow to shake sleep. Over the years he’d gotten both ribbed about it and in real trouble, not the least of which was the time he’d slept through his first “SIM”—space shuttle simulation pilot test. He’d been in Russia, and had just battled a week-long flu, which he’d kept silent about so as not to have to give up the chance. The test had been agonizingly long, and his “landing” required a pre-dawn wakeup. Thanks to his cold medications, he hadn’t made it, and as a result, the autopilot had kicked in for the simulated event, “demolishing” the entire landing strip and center, “killing” over one hundred people.
That particular mishap had caused him years of jokes at his expense, not to mention requiring some serious kissing up. He’d practically had to beg to be kept in the program.
And now, when he finally managed to crack his eyes open, and saw the bright sunlight pouring in through the hotel window, he knew before reaching out that he was alone.
Still he stretched, touching her side of the pillow they’d shared when they hadn’t been rolling, tangled and heated and breathless, across the sheets.
It was cold.
She’d been gone for a while then, and he had no one to blame but himself for the odd mixture of real regret and not so real relief.
As he rose and showered, Mike reminded himself that he had no time in his life for any serious entanglements. Having to fill in for this mission as pilot, when the mission had been in the planning stages for so long, meant he had months of catching up to do. He knew better than to think it would be a piece of cake. It was going to take every single second of every single day until launch to pull this off.
First, he had to get through the initial process of inserting himself into an already established team. They were in Huntsville to immerse themselves in this critical project. In a week, they’d move on to Houston, where they would stay until launch time, with occasional trips back and forth to Kennedy Space Center in Florida.
He was looking at a whirlwind of activity.
Which meant this was not the time to be considering a personal attachment. That was actually a good thing, as he’d never wanted a personal attachment.
But last night, what he’d shared with that woman…now that could have been the first time he might have actually paused and considered anything close to a relationship.
But she was gone, and he had to work, so it was over.
Which didn’t explain why after his shower he stood staring down at the rumpled bed, yearning and burning for something just out of his reach.
He dressed and ate as if it was just any other morning, and everything was normal. Same old, same old.
But it wasn’t. He wasn’t.
He knew he had last night to thank for that. He’d known from the moment she’d set foot in that bar, soaking wet, head high and eyes bright, that she was going to shake things up.
She’d done that and more; she’d shaken him to the core. He tried not to think about that, and also about what he could have felt for her, under different circumstances.
How could that happen, he wondered, after only a little conversation and some good sex?
Okay, great sex.
Regardless, it wasn’t like him to be mooning on the morning after. He’d always been the one running. But she’d left him, without a word or note, and he would have sworn that’s exactly what he wanted.
So why was he entertaining other thoughts, about things like relationships and family and white picket fences? He had missions to fly and hopefully someday command. A wife and kids sounded nice, but for far, far, far down the road. Not now.
At 0900 hours on the dot, he entered the Marshall Flight Center. He expected to leap right into work, expected to be whisked into the whole rush of it immediately.
He didn’t expect a conference room filled with smiling people and good food—usually an oxy-moron when it came to government-provided meals.
Though he’d spent very little time in the United States since his Air Force days, many of the people milling around were familiar to him. The space industry was like that—very incestuous. Even during the Cold War, when politicians from one country wouldn’t speak to, or even recognize, politicians from another, science had managed to remain universal. As countries, Russia and the United States might have ignored each other for years, but their scientists hadn’t. They’d been sharing the designing and planning of expeditions and experiments since the very beginning, and nothing had changed since.
Few people on the outside realized how closely Russia, Japan, the United States and many other countries were working together to build the International Space Station, and even now, just thinking about it made Mike’s chest swell with pride at being a part of it.
“Welcome, Mike!”
He found his hand being energetically pumped by Tom Banks, an old astronaut training buddy who now worked in ground control. Mike was surprised to see Tom had lost some hair and gained some weight since those training days.
“I heard the good news!” Tom was grinning. “You’re back in the States, filling in for Patrick.” His smile faded. “Poor guy. Can’t believe he biffed it so badly parachuting. Sporting three pins in his leg, did you hear?”
“Ouch.” Mike wondered exactly how selfish it was of him to be grateful for the miracle of that mishap, and also the fact that the backup pilot had contracted hepatitis.
Probably pretty damn selfish.
But he’d been training for exactly this opportunity for years. He’d been in space twice before and couldn’t wait to get back up there. So far, all he knew was that the mission would carry and install the third of eight sets of solar arrays that, at the completion of construction in 2006, would comprise the space station’s electrical power system, converting sunlight to usable energy. It was a project he was intimately familiar with, as he’d been working on it in Russia for years. “How is it all going?”
“It’s going,” Tom said, nodding. “They’re thrilled to have you, as your reputation precedes you.”
That, Mike knew, could be good or bad.
“Hey, heard about last year,” Tom said. “How you limped back after the payload fire mid-flight.”
Limped. Kind word for nearly losing it, as in crashing back to earth, becoming fish food, biting the big one. Thanks to some quick thinking on Mike’s part—and he was convinced anyone on that team could have done the same, he’d just gotten there first—he’d managed to contain the fire and put it out before it destroyed them beyond repair. “I don’t care to repeat that experience,” he said in grand understatement.
“You were a lucky bastard, that’s for certain. All of you.”
“Have you met your team?” Tom turned to the two men who’d just come up to them. “Mike Wright, meet Jimmy Westmoreland, Mission Specialist-One. And Frank Smothers, Mission Specialist-Two.”
As it turned out, Mike had met both men before. They’d come to Russia several years back to study some of the communications equipment for the space station in its planning stages, so it was more of a reunion than anything else. A few moments later he was introduced to Stephen Philips, the fifth member of the team and their payload specialist.
“You’ve met everyone now,” Tom said. “Not bad for your first ten minutes here.”
“I haven’t met the commander.” Oddly enough, Mike felt his first flash of…not apprehension; that was far too strong a word for a man who felt so utterly comfortable in his
world. But just as the space industry was notorious for its small population of overeducated overachievers, it was also notorious for its big egos, and no one, absolutely no one, made it to commander status without a significant sense of self-importance.
Added to that was yet another problem.
This commander was a woman.
Everyone knew Mike loved women. He cherished them, dreamed about them, wanted them, enjoyed them.
Take last night, for example.
But working for a woman? As in, directly beneath one?
He didn’t want to think of himself as biased or sexist, but honest to God, he couldn’t imagine why a woman would want to be commander of the space shuttle, he just couldn’t. It took strength, a tough-as-nails demeanor and, well, balls.
“Corrine Atkinson?” Stephen craned his neck, as did Tom and the others. Unlike Tom, Frank, Jimmy and Stephen were of average height or taller, and leanly muscular. They wore the short, short buzz cut that screamed military, and all of them had the look of tough, rigidly controlled, well-trained athletes.
Unfortunately, astronauts on the whole were not nearly as serious-minded as their reputation might lead the general public to believe. In fact, for the most part they were great pranksters and troublemakers, not one of these guys being an exception.
“The commander is here somewhere,” Stephen assured Mike. “She just came in from Houston.”
“She flew in to meet you, in fact,” Frank said, far too innocently. He ruined it by grinning. “Don’t worry. We told her all about you.”
Jimmy joined in with his own evil grin. “Yeah. We started with that time we came to Russia and you brought us to that party, remember?”
God help him, he did.
“And those women jumped out of a cake,” Jimmy added, though Mike already knew the rest.
“They were some great lookers,” Frank said. “But then we found out they were prostitutes. You tried to send them home, Mike, remember? They didn’t have a ride, so we offered to give them one—”
Mike groaned at the recounting of the bachelor party for one of his comrades. “Tell me you didn’t tell her this.”
“Oh, yes. We did. She especially liked the next part.” Frank grinned. “You remember…the naked part.”
“Okay, that was not my fault.” Mike rubbed his temples. “And when they pulled their guns to rob us, we didn’t get hurt. Did you tell her that, I hope?”
“We were safe only because they had a crush on you,” Jimmy pointed out. “They still took our wallets and cash.”
“And our clothes,” Frank added. “Don’t forget they took our clothes and then our keys, and left us by the side of the road.”
“It started to rain,” Jimmy recalled with a shiver. “Hard.”
“Yeah.” Frank smiled in fond remembrance. “Good thing it wasn’t winter.”
“The commander,” Mike said weakly. “She found that story particularly fascinating, I suppose.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Everyone but Mike doubled over with laughter.
Great. Just great. Mike hadn’t even met the woman and he was probably on her shit list.
“There she is now,” Stephen said, pointing across the room.
She had her back to them. All Mike could tell from the view was that she was rather petite. No other details, except she’d pulled her hair back in a severe bun that reminded him of Mrs. Stestlebaum, his strict, terrifying first-grade teacher.
Commander Corrine Atkinson appeared to favor boxy business suits that didn’t show nearly enough of the female body to suit him, and hid any curves she might or might not have.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” Tom said.
Mike drew in a deep breath, feeling resigned, but not sure why. So she dressed a little stiffly. So she liked to torture her scalp with unforgiving hairdos. It didn’t mean she would be difficult to work for.
He hoped.
“Mike?”
“Yeah,” he said to Tom. “Coming.” But he didn’t move.
Frank laughed and slapped him on the back. “It’s just the boss, big guy, not the guillotine.”
But Mike knew that sometimes they could be one and the same. Together, moving as a team already, they strode forward to introduce him, the other men smiling, relaxed in a way that suddenly Mike couldn’t have imitated to save his life.
Strange, given how much he enjoyed smiling and being relaxed.
He didn’t understand it, at least not until he got within two feet of her and she turned to face him.
CORRINE GOT THAT FUNNY tingle at the base of her skull, the one that warned her that something exciting—good or bad, she couldn’t yet tell—was about to happen.
The inkling was right on, she discovered, as she slowly turned and faced the group of men standing there smiling, all of whom she knew, some better than others.
With the exception of the one in front.
Her perfect stranger.
The man with the wicked eyes and even more wicked hands, the one she imagined would headline her fantasies for years to come, was standing right there in front of her.
Only now he wasn’t in worn jeans and a clean T-shirt, sitting at the bar tapping his foot in tune with the music as a storm raged outside. Now he wasn’t looking alone and sexy, and just a tad bit dangerous to her mental health.
Now he was…oh, definitely still sexy and just a tad bit dangerous to her mental health—but no longer alone late at night.
He was surrounded by her team, looking for all the world as if he belonged there, looking as if he’d been born there.
“Commander Atkinson? This is Mike Wright,” Tom said proudly. “In the flesh.”
Flesh. Oh, she knew his flesh. Intimately. And at just the thought, she blushed.
Blushed.
Unimaginable. She opened her mouth, maybe to deny this could really be happening, maybe just to let out an indignant squeak, but thankfully, he spoke first.
“You’re the commander?” He looked as sick as she did. “Commander Atkinson?”
At least he was every bit as stunned as she. Which didn’t help things, not one little bit, not when her perfect stranger was… Oh my God.
On her team.
He was a subordinate. He was going to have to take direct orders from her, and as she knew damned well, he wouldn’t like it. He was strong and tough and his own man…and this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t really be happening.
She couldn’t have accidentally slept with someone she was going to work closely with. God, more than closely, they were going to be practically glued at the hip for the next four months. This was some sort of cosmic joke. It had to be.
A nightmare.
For the first time in her life, she was truly speechless, with no idea of how to react.
But she could see he did. In fact, he was already reaching out his hand, not to shake hers as a stranger would, but to hold it and squeeze gently, in that very familiar way he had, a way that would scream to anyone watching what they’d been to each other, only hours before. “You’re—”
“Mike. Mike Wright.”
He had a name. Fancy that. She jerked her hand away and carefully schooled her features into a cool passivity. “Nice to meet you.”
He wasn’t only surprised at her civil tone and refusal to acknowledge that they knew each other, he looked shocked as well. But she couldn’t register that at the moment; all she could think was…he was Mike Wright!
Not her first choice for pilot, or even her second, but those men had been taken from her by circumstance. When American-born and Russian-trained astronaut Mikhail Wright had been suggested for emergency secondary backup, she’d agreed, because his amazing talent and precise control were well known. Though she’d never met him, she’d thought he’d be perfect.
Perfect.
God, he was. He had been. And now she’d pay the price.
“It was very good of you to leave Russia and your projects there to come join our team,”
she said evenly. “Thank you.”
He just stared at her.
“Well…” Her voice trailed off, because for just a moment she wasn’t the commander, but Corrine the woman, the one who’d let a man in, and because of that had seen possibilities she couldn’t imagine.
The situation couldn’t be worse. Well, okay, actually it could; everyone in the room could know she’d slept with him.
That would be worse.
If her team found out, she’d lose her tough, intense edge, at least in their eyes. All her control would be taken away, and much of their respect, and that would be a fate worse than death because of how hard she’d worked to get where she was.
Straightening both her spine and her resolve, Corrine forced a little smile, hoping he got her silent message and urgent plea. “You’ll want to get started immediately. First we’ll acquaint you with what we’ve been doing. You’ve got an all-day meeting with the mission specialists, whom I see you already know.”
Frank and Jimmy beamed.
Mike never took his eyes off her, his big, leanly muscled body taut as wire. He said nothing.
“Then tomorrow, at 0800 hours, we’ll get started on our SIM,” she said, referring to their simulation in a huge tank of water that projected the approximate weightlessness of the environment in space. She was already wondering how she could get out of that exercise herself. “After training together for a week, becoming a team, we’ll leave for Johnson Space Center, where we’ll stay for the remaining months before launch, training on a daily basis.”
He still just stared at her, his mouth grim, and in the depths of his fathomless eyes she saw things she didn’t know how to respond to—surprise and shock, not to mention bitter disappointment at the way she’d handled this impossible situation.
Finally, after a long, hard moment in which she sweated buckets inside her far too stuffy suit, he slowly nodded, every inch of him serious and businesslike in a way that made her want to cry.
“See you then,” he said, in a voice made of steel. Turning on his heel, he left the room, and Corrine could only watch him go.
And wonder at the odd sense of loss she experienced.
